


Holding Her

by AParisianShakespearean



Series: Dragon Age One Shots [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Angst, Mutual Pining, Pining, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 04:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: Alistair struggles with his feelings for his fellow Warden, Miranda.





	Holding Her

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something for Alistair appreciation week.

By the light of the campfire outside the Keep, the assault wouldn’t stop.

Every time Alistair thought she was done, she prodded him again, sticking and dabbing and giving him searing pain. He was sure Wynne was doing it on purpose too.

“Alistair,” she scolded, “stop moving so much.”

“It stings,” he protested.

“That means it’s healing.”

There just had to be rage demons at the Keep, didn’t there? He was grateful at least they could help Levi Dryden, but he should have figured something would have gone wrong. Whether it be darkspawn or demons, something always went wrong.

He was hit with a particularly bad jolt. “Ow!” he exclaimed.

“Oh hush. I’m done with the salve now. It just needs fresh bandages.”

“Thank the Maker.”

“Be grateful Morrigan isn’t the one doing this.”

“Believe me. I am.”

After the demons and Avernus were dealt with, it was too late to begin the journey to Denerim, and Miranda thought it best to call it a day. But Alistair didn’t see her after they set up the campfire outside. Nor did he see her when Wynne was bandaging him up. It was only then when Wynne angled him to the other side that he caught a glimpse of her. She was hard to miss when the sight of that auburn hair was in view, even if the evening was becoming night. She was off to the side, away from everyone else. Farther away from everyone than even Morrigan usually was. She must have been looking at the view. Or thinking of something.

He felt a pang. A pang of something he didn’t really understand. Was it best to leave her be? Was it best to go to her? Could he do that, go and try to say something, comfort her when she was clearly upset? Could he do that when he was just her other Grey Warden?

Well. Maybe they were more. Maybe. He didn’t really know.

“Speak to her.”

Alistair blinked at Wynne’s sudden statement. “I wasn’t—”

“The doe-eyed looks were just at nothing then?”

He sighed. A long time ago, he learned it was best not to evade with Wynne. “I don’t know if I should,” he admitted. “She hasn’t told me much of anything about how Duncan recruited her. I know what happened, know what she lost, but…” he ran his hands through his hair. “What can I say? I can’t make what she’s feeling go away.”

“She has been through so much,” Wynne said, regret in her words. “Too much. As you have.”

He felt a flare of shame, remembering how for days he wouldn’t say anything, depressed as he was about Duncan and the other Wardens. And there was Miranda. Working through it. Leading them ahead when she had lost so much more. “She won’t talk to me about it,” Alistair said, thinking of the times she brushed off speaking of her family, speaking only of Highever and her estate instead. Never of anything else. Maybe because it was too hard.

“If she wants to, she will,” Wynne assured. “Sitting here however, won’t accomplish anything.”

He had to admit she was right. And though it took a moment, at Wynne’s hawk-like gaze, Alistair resigned himself and rose, tentatively heading his way over to where Miranda stood.

He cleared his throat. “Uh—”

“Alistair,” she said, before turning around toward him. “I thought you were by the fire with Wynne getting your bandage done. Is something wrong?”

“No,” he replied, all too surprised. “No. I was just…”

“Yes?” she raised her eyebrows, prodding him on when he didn’t continue, and Alistair couldn’t help but gulp. If beautiful women could stop Blights, then Miranda would have had all of their problems solved already. And he hardly got to see her like this in the first place—so relaxed, with her hair down and loose, framing her face, and green eyes without any hint of edge, as they so often were when she was traveling, or talking with anyone else.

Instead, tonight, there was something else. He knew as much.

“Um. How did you know it was me anyway?” he asked like a fool, stumbling over his words.

She chuckled. “Your footsteps are the loudest out of everyone.”

“Oh.”

She motioned. “Hey. Thanks for dropping by though. It’s nice of you.”

It didn’t make him feel better. Actually, his nerves increased tenfold as he took a place by her. “Hey. Uh…good work today,” he said, far too awkwardly. “I’m glad we could help Levi and clear this Keep.”

“I suppose I am too.”

“Suppose?”

“Well,” she quipped, crossing her arms. “No one ever said being a Grey Warden would involve so many fetch quests and menial tasks.”

They had argument after argument about this before, it was almost becoming a ritual. Almost every evening Miranda complained about the endless people that needed their help, and Morrigan would demand why it was necessary Miranda throw her services at everyone when there was nothing they could give the party in return. There were some days Miranda agreed they shouldn’t do anything for anyone even. Alistair would never tell her that to a certain point, sometimes he agreed. Ultimately though, even though she would never admit it, Miranda was too nice of a person to not help someone when she knew she could. And no one was going to stop her from doing what was right.

“No,” Alistair finally admitted, shifting his feet. “I know you’ve had none of the good experiences of being a Grey Warden, but—”

“But I lost everything to be here,” she snapped, too suddenly, and his tone surprised her. “If Howe didn’t…do what he did, I may never have been standing here. Someone else would have been here and—”

“And we would never have met.”

But Maker he shouldn’t have said that.

Not like this. Not like this, became his only thought. Not when she was lashing out and upset. It didn’t bother him, that she did. It was only human for her to be upset. What was important was that she did what she had to do anyway.

But he didn’t want to admit it now. Not when she was upset. It should have been different. Should have—

He couldn’t look into her eyes, ashamed as he was. He looked everywhere else. The sky, his shuffling feet in the snow. Anywhere. It was why it came as a surprise when he felt her fingers, a bit cold, but not un-welcome, on his chin. Letting their eyes meet.

It was funny how green eyes were just another color of eyes before hers.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, and he knew she was. “I know I get frustrated when we’re not doing something. Maybe that’s why I always make us do something, so I don’t have to think about anything. I try to bottle it up, but I tend to take things out on…” she looked down now, before meeting his eyes again, and continuing, a but hushed, but continuing, “with people I care about.”

She was a noble. Deserved to be courted properly, even if he had only a small idea as to how. So he took her hand in his, and brought it to his lips, giving her fingers a kiss. “There’s nothing to worry about, my lady,” he said. “I understand.”

A smile played on her lips. “Good. I—really. Thank you for understanding.”

“How could I not?”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you came to see me.”

Tentatively he wrapped an arm around her, and as the stars began to gleam, and she rested her head on his shoulder, he knew that everyone in the camp would see. Zevran, Wynne, Leliana, and yes. Morrigan too. But he didn’t care. Not even a little. Or at all. She was in his arms. Why should he care about anything else?

“Today was my nephew Oren’s birthday,” she said, still looking at the stars. “He would have been eleven years old.”

His “I’m sorry,” was too feeble. Too useless. It couldn’t bring him back. “You know,” he began however, remembering what the cooks at Castle Redcliffe used to tell him when he was sad he had no mother or father, “they say the people we love become stars in the nighttime sky.”

“I heard,” she said. “It’s a beautiful sentiment.”

He didn’t know she was crying until she fell further in his arms, her tears wetting his tunic. He held her as she cried, gently rocking her back and forth, allowing her this. She had never cried before. Not in front of him, and it felt intimate and strange. Yet she needed him, so he held her still. Kissed the top of her head. Let her know through his actions and not words, that she would always have a place in his arms.

“Mira,” he muttered. “I—”

She peered at him. “Mira?”

“You don’t like it?” he asked. “Your full name is long, and—”

“My family used to call me Mira. That’s all.”

“Oh. That—how stupid of me,” he said quickly. “I won’t call you that if you don’t like it. I promise.”

“No. I haven’t heard it in a while, that’s all. You can—you can call me ‘Mira’ if you want. I don’t mind. I like hearing it again.”

He smiled at her smile. “Alright then. Mira.”

One more kiss. To her forehead. Another day, he knew. He would try for the lips. But there was plenty enough time for that. Someday soon, when it wasn’t too soon. After she knew what a rare and wonderful thing she was to him.

_The rose. Next time. Tomorrow maybe. Give her the rose._

“It’s not so bad, when we’re together,” she said. “Actually. It’s like…well. It’s like I don’t hurt at all.”

“Neither do I.”

She was beautiful, when she smiled. “Good.”

When Leliana told stories by the campfire that night, Mira wouldn’t let go of his hand. Alistair knew Wynne was smirking at him. But he was entirely too happy to care.


End file.
